


no man is a failure who has friends

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (at the end) - Freeform, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Canon, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - It's a Wonderful Life Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ghosts, House Stark, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M, Minor Jon Snow/Ygritte, Multi, Poor Theon, Robb Stark is a Gift, Temporary Character Death, The Author Regrets Nothing, Timeline What Timeline, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9068143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: where in a moment of despair Robb wishes he never was born. Good thing someone hears him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> SOOO I wanted to be done with this yesterday because it was the 25th but I didn't manage so it's one day late - ah well. Anyway, one of the themes for throbb advent week (I'll catch up on at least two other fics I wanted to write for it but THIS HAD TO HAPPEN TODAY AT LATEST) was 'overused Christmas movie'. Guess whose favorite Christmas movie (heck, probably the only Christmas movie I like) is _It's a Wonderful Life_? Yeah, you guessed right. Mine. Also I couldn't figure out who I wanted Clarence to be and then I realized it was better structured if I used some elements from _A Christmas Carol_ which also qualifies for 'overused Christmas movie/animated movie/book/story' so you get three ghosts rather than one angel. Also because angels in Westeros would be hard to explain.
> 
> Also, in order to make this work and have Oberyn as one of the ghosts (because I thought he'd be a good chaperon and I really liked the idea) I made some adjustments to the timeline and didn't outright kill Joffrey for reasons you'll see, and the Red Wedding is later than Joffrey's wedding, but hey it was all for the plot don't mind me.
> 
>  **Further warnings** : the alternate world is *really* shitty. Also poor Theon REALLY has no good time to be had in it, so all the usual Ramsay-related warnings apply with the extra bad one that since Robb didn't exist in that world... well, put two and two together. /o\ Also there's a lot of character death in the alternate world which obviously will go undone in the real one but like, be warned for angst all over the place. Don't worry if you know how the original ended you know it's not going to stick around. Also the entire premise is sort of a feast of suicidal thoughts but if you know the original you probably guessed already.
> 
> Other than that: the characters aren't mine, the title is from the movie itself and I only own the merging of plots. And merry late Christmas to everyone. ;)

It’s late.

Probably too late for Robb to be up and about, only a faint candlelight preventing the room from falling into pitch black darkness. The sky outside is darker than usual – most nights, you can see stars reflected in the Trident’s waters, but not today.

Today, the Trident’s as dark as the sky and as Robb’s mood and as – as _everything_ lately, truth to be told.

He sighs, staring back down at the letters covering his desk.

There’s the one from the Freys asking whether he intends to take their deal or not. He can remember how his uncle was _not_ pleased at all today when they broke the news, and his mother’s assurances that he will come around aren’t doing anything to help lessen the guilt he’s feeling when it concerns his topic. After all, he only has to come around because _Robb_ made a colossal mistake, doesn’t he?

He glances at the raven he received from Winterfell, the one that sent him into such deep despair he didn’t even think twice before crushing his mouth over Jeyne’s the moment she touched his face and tried to console him after he broke down in tears repeating under his breath that _it was his fault_. He kept it out of – he doesn’t know, really. Guilt, probably. So that he doesn’t forget his biggest mistake – if anything he deserves a complete, full and constant reminder. There’s the one from King’s Landing informing him of what happened to his sister, and isn’t _that_ just adding to the pile of things he got colossally wrong since they put a crown on his head. Never mind that after her Lannister husband was tried and imprisoned for attempting on fucking Joffrey’s life during his wedding to Margaery, or so they said, he has a feeling her position at court isn’t improving.

He should throw those damned letters away, really, but –

But he got it wrong and he needs a reminder. He doubts he’ll ever forget, truth to be told, but –

_I haven’t gone back to Winterfell the moment I knew Theon seized it. No, I need a reminder. I need a fucking reminder all right._

If only he could sleep.

But he can’t. He has to pen an answer that can only be _yes_ , because if it’s no then the war is as good as lost, and he can’t afford it even if it means overriding his uncle’s wishes. Damn it. That’s not what he signed up for, and hearing Jeyne’s soft breathing coming from their bed isn’t helping him any.

Especially when he thinks about a look her mother sent her when she came before with one of those teas she swears will get her daughter with child sooner, which are not working for the moment – but maybe it takes time, what does he know. Not much, but he _definitely_ knows she was looking at Jeyne as if she was her biggest disappointment and –

And that’s Robb’s fault too, isn’t it?

He doesn’t know what it is with him – maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s that it’s the middle of the night and he feels surrounded by darkness, maybe it’s that he hasn’t gotten one single fucking piece of good news in the last months or maybe it’s that it’s been days since he cut off Lord Karstark’s head and he can still feel fucking blood under his nails and all over his hands, never mind that he still can remember exactly every detail of _how_ his severed head looked when it hit the ground or while he was hacking at the man’s neck (somehow, it didn’t look so gruesome when his father was the one delivering the blow), but –

But what good has he done until now? No, really, _what_?

He drops his quill back on the table and walks out of the room into the balcony. Now that he’s outside, it’s not so dark – he can still something, there is a faint starlight up in the sky even if it’s barely visible, but everything he sees right now is the dark water of the riverbed.

The air is cold, enough to make him feel slightly relieved – it felt cramped inside the room, even if it shouldn’t have been, and he got out of bed in the first place because the covers felt heavy and too warm and all-around suffocating, and what does it say that he’s out here shivering rather than with his wife in his bed?

Robb shudders once, twice, and then he thinks, not for the first time in these last months, _I got everything so wrong_.

He feels Grey Wind trotting up next to him – he whines a bit and Robb absentmindedly ruffles the fur on his head, but his heart isn’t in it.

What his heart is in right now, is wondering _how many fucking problems he’s causing other people_.

After all, look at what happened since Father left and he was in charge. A complete disaster except for winning battles, but what is winning battles in the face of everything he’s gotten wrong.

Seven hells, he doesn’t even know how far back he can go, but if he just _thinks_ about it –

He refused to exchange Lannister for his sisters and now Sansa is _married to the Imp_ , who is most probably going to be sentenced to death but not before they’re sure she will give him a heir if he knows his enemies, and Arya is gods know where. He didn’t go back to Winterfell the moment he heard of what Theon had done and it got his brothers killed – shit, how does his mother not hate him? Maybe she does and pretends not to, a part of him that he doesn’t want to believe suggests, but – _how_?

He has no idea.

Never mind that he went and trusted Theon blindly, but – how could he know? Why did he even do it? He thought – yeah. Robb knows what _he_ thought. And even if he should put a cold stone over what he feels when it concerns Theon he just hates that he was wrong. How are you friends with someone for as long as you can remember, how can you think you know them as well as anyone ever could, how can you trust them with your life, how can you be so sure of them and get a knife to the back in return?

Well. Maybe you’re just too trusting, or too sentimental, or too – _too many other things_ Robb wishes he wasn’t. But he is. Isn’t he?

Hell, he was so distraught about it that he went and ruined Jeyne’s life – he’s not an idiot. He knows that he did. He knows all of his bannermen hate her, he knows that his uncle now will even more because he will have to marry Roslin Frey to make up for Robb’s mistakes, he knows that his mother doesn’t really think she’s the best match, he knows that Jeyne’s family does not approve at all save for her brothers, and if he hadn’t married her? Ah, if he hadn’t then no one would have thought her a good match, of course.

If only at least – well, if he got her with child that night they laid together maybe this situation would be less wretched but no, he didn’t, and he’s not doing it now, which means everyone looks at _her_ as if she’s the problem and of course she doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve any of that. At least if she had been with child he’d have had the excuse that he didn’t want any bastard children of his into the world –

And ah, right, thinking about that, too, he couldn’t even bring himself to try and convince Jon to stay when he wanted him to. But in between the no love lost between Jon and his mother and Jon looking so sure of his choice he hadn’t, and now he’s freezing on the Wall with a bunch of thieves and murderers and not with him where he rightfully belongs. Or with his family. Maybe if Jon had been in Winterfell Robb wouldn’t have lost it to the damned ironborn.

But Robb always was there reminding Jon that he wasn’t fully welcome or fully Stark, was he? Shit, he doesn’t know how Jon didn’t resent him more for it. (He’s aware that he might have, some, but every time Robb tried to ask him about it he’d just give him a sad smile and shrug the question off. Robb never pressed. Maybe – maybe he should have.

And maybe – maybe someone else would have called the banners sooner. Who knows if with someone more capable and older or wiser in charge they could have avoided his father’s death? Of course, he can’t know that. He’s sure he did everything he had to as soon as he could. No one begrudged him that. But still, that tiny sliver of doubt is growing bigger, and given the mess he’s done out of everything else, then who says that he’s not right about _that_ , too?

Gods, maybe if Jon had been in his place he’d have been more level-headed – he always tended to be. He surely wouldn’t have stopped at _diplomatic reasons_ if Arya’s well-being had been at stake. Hell, no. And what was Robb thinking about?

That one Jaime Lannister was worth a Ned Stark but not his sisters. Which might have been true politically speaking, but was sure as hell not true when it came to what really mattered, and there’s a reason why he was never angry at his mother for setting him free.

And – he wishes he could talk about this with someone. He truly does. But the one person he’d do it with always was Theon because _he_ was the one out of the two of them who was older and for whom Robb didn’t feel responsible, and where’s Theon?

Right. Somewhere in the Dreadfort, if Roose Bolton is telling the truth.

And now – he certainly can’t let himself lose it in front of his mother or Jeyne’s brothers or – or anyone, because then they’d see the truth. That he’s no material for a king. They’d see that he’s a way greener lad than they assumed, that at six and ten he’s definitely not the grown seasoned commander they were looking for and that he doesn’t have half a clue of what he’s doing, and that – well. It probably shows, given how horribly he’s dealing with things. Hells, if only _he_ hadn’t been there.

If only he hadn’t been the one having to deal with this mess.

If only –

“Maybe,” he says, so low that no one could hear him if they weren’t standing right next to him, “maybe _I_ am the problem.”

After all, if it hadn’t been _him_ , maybe Jon wouldn’t have had to see him getting treated better just because of their surnames for all of his life and maybe he wouldn’t have grown up looking so sad half of the time. Maybe if it hadn’t been him, Theon wouldn’t have been able to stab whoever else in the back and his brothers would still be alive, because no one else would have trusted him with that envoy. If it hadn’t been him, maybe his sisters would be safe in Riverrun and not married to a Lannister and possibly in some worse situation (if the Lannisters haven’t told them what Arya is up to but assure they still have her, it can’t be anything good). If it hadn’t been him, Jeyne would still be a maiden and her family wouldn’t hate the sight of her even if they try to hide it. If it hadn’t been him, his mother would still have most of her children alive instead of just one. If it hadn’t been him, who knows, maybe his father would have lived. Gods, he really has done a lot of good in this world, hasn’t he?

“Fuck,” he says to the void, not that anyone hears him. For a moment he’s tempted to jump, but that wouldn’t solve any problems except maybe giving him everlasting reprieve from everything that’s going wrong. No, the point isn’t that he should die now. The point is –

“I should have never been born,” he whispers, and as he says it, it sounds just so fucking simple a solution he can’t help letting out a small sob without thinking about it.

Then he slams a hand over his mouth because he can’t allow himself to have a breakdown here and now, he has to go back and write that letter and salvage this war, but that doesn’t change the reality of it.

He really should have never opened his eyes in this godforsaken world, that’s what –

“And are you so _sure_ about it?”

 _What the_ –

He looks at his right – it was a woman’s voice. But not Jeyne and not his mother, and who else would be around here at this time?

And it’s –

“Who are you?” He replies, even if he thinks he should know.

There’s something familiar about this woman – hells, of course there is. She has grey eyes like his father’s and Arya’s, and dark brown hair like his father’s and Arya’s as well, and their long face and pale skin. For a moment he wonders what the hell is going on, and then he notices that he actually can see her perfectly even if it’s pitch black outside, that she has bare feet, that her white dress is stained in blood around the upper legs and that she’s looking at him with a face that Arya always used to make when she was not impressed with what you were telling her.

“You know who I am,” the woman replies, sounding slightly amused, and –

Well. There’s only one person she could be. She has to be. Because she looks more or less like a certain statue in the crypts, doesn’t she? Except that –

“Aunt Lyanna?” Robb asks, his voice trembling. She nods. “But – you’re _dead_ ,” he says helplessly.

“True and true,” she says, “but let’s say that it doesn’t matter right now.”

Robb wonders if he’s fallen asleep on his desk and he’s dreaming all of this. There’s no other reason he could be _talking to his dead aunt_ that he’s never met in his life.

“What – what is this?” He asks. He sounds more tired than he’d like to be, but if he’s hallucinating her then he’s really at the end of his rope.

She gives him a look which is – not unkind, he thinks, but he also has a feeling she’s thinking he’s being a complete idiot.

“Sometimes,” she says, “the dead can hear you. Some other times, they’re allowed to – to help out the living, so to speak. There are rules to this thing, and I can’t tell you any of them, but I don’t think it’s what you’re worried about right now.”

Robb just stares without understanding the entire point – so she’s been around _the whole time_?

“Yes and no,” she replies, sounding more amused than else. “And yes, I can read your mind. There will have to be some perks when it comes to being dead, right? Anyway, that’s not the point, either. The point is what you just said.”

 _That I wished I never existed_ , Robb thinks. “And so what? It’s the truth,” he shrugs. “If I threw myself into the river right now I would solve nothing, but if I had never been there in the first place everyone would have benefited.”

His aunt did look amused before, but then her eyes go wide in – horror? Pity? A mix of both? Robb has no clue, but he’s not expecting it when she moves forward and cups his cheek with her hand, and it’s – strange. It feels like a hand, and she’s warm, but it feels too light. Not – not real enough.

“Oh gods,” she says, “you really think that, don’t you?”

Robb just nods – he’s feeling like all words left him – and she just stares at him for a very, very long moment.

And then –

She closes her eyes for a moment, as if she’s listening to someone he can’t hear, and then her hand slips downwards from his cheek to his wrist and she grabs at it, not too much but strong enough that he has a feeling he’d have to put up a fight in order to break the hold.

“I think,” she says, “that you really have it wrong.”

“I don’t –”

“And I think that there are a lot of things you need to see. It’s – well, it’s not something that happens often, and truthfully I shouldn’t do it because it might change a lot of things, but there is… a general agreement that you deserve better than what you are getting right now.”

“… General agreement? Between _whom_?” This makes no sense whatsoever, hells, but Lyanna just shakes her head.

“I cannot tell you, I am afraid. But I – and a few others – can make that wish of yours come true, if you want to see it for real.”

“What do you mean?”

“A world in which _you were never born_ ,” Lyanna replies. “And if you like it best, I imagine strings could be pulled, but I do not think you would.”

“I doubt it. Nothing can be worse than this.”

Lyanna gives him a look that Robb swears she got from Old Nan. That was the look she always had when she said –

“My sweet summer child, you have no idea. But telling you would be useless. So I will _show_ you,” she says, and then Robb isn’t seeing her anymore but his eyes are filled with a blinding light that he thinks might actually fucking burn them –

That is, until he blinks and realizes that he’s not blind and that he’s standing in Winterfell’s yard.

Except that it’s – similar but somehow different. It’s the way it was years ago when he was around what, five? Six? He remembers because there aren’t four targets on the other side of the yard, merely two – they were added when he and Jon started practicing archery and they started the year later.

That’s when he hears crying from somewhere above – right. It’s Arya. He can recognize it without even blinking, she used to cry a lot when she was just born. But something is wrong. He remembers Winterfell being fairly cheerful whenever one of his siblings was born. But the yard is empty and no one is around and he can’t hear the usual noises from the inside.

“What’s wrong?”

“You will see in a moment,” his aunt tells him. “By the way, people will not be able to see us unless you want them to. So you can eavesdrop at will.”

He wants to ask her what she means when he sees two maids crossing the yard, going obviously towards his mother’s chambers. They look gloomy.

“ – not a good thing,” one of them says.

“Definitely not,” the other one replies. “Gods, if only that babe had been a son.”

“I know. Gods, if the next one is a girl, too, Lord Stark better send off his bastard to the Reeds or something, I doubt Lady Stark would even want him around the village.”

“Maybe you’re bein’ too gloomy. She barely sees him around as it is.”

“True, but still, with no male heir in sight? Hopefully the next one will be.”

They head up the stairs, shushing as they enter the castle, and Robb just stands there dumbfounded.

“What – what was that?”

His aunt sends him a pitying look. “Exactly what it sounded like,” she says. “Go on. Go upstairs.”

Robb isn’t sure he wants to, but he swallows and does. He walks slowly. And –

He goes towards his parents’ bedroom, and walks inside, but – the bed doesn’t look very lived in. There aren’t his mother’s things around the room as before. He opens the wardrobes, but he sees no dresses or anything even remotely ladylike.

“That’s because she doesn’t sleep here. Follow me.”

She – she doesn’t?

But –

“She’s always – they’ve always shared a bed.”

“Not in this world. Come on.” 

Robb swallows down and follows her – they have to walk for a good five minutes before they finally reach the right hallway, and –

His parents are standing in front of each other, his mother behind the doorstep and his father outside. She has Arya in her arms and she looks tired. And older than he remembers her looking when Arya was born. Not at all radiant. His father – his father just looks tired, the kind of tired that goes deep to your bones and Robb is all too familiar with, these days.

“My lady,” he says. “I am glad to see you that you are both well.”

“Thank you. My lord.”

“Gods,” Robb blurts out, “since when are they this formal?”

“Since they never moved past that stage in their marriage,” Lyanna replies, looking sad. “When my brother came back with – with _Jon_ ,” she says, and Robb doesn’t miss she had been about to say something else, “in your world, _you_ were there. So he had already a male heir that could have been older or was as old as his bastard, and while your mother never liked him much, he wasn’t a direct threat to her children’s inheritance. But in this world she never had you, and she didn’t accept when your father asked to let Jon stay.”

“What – where is he?”

“In the village, you heard those maids. Anyway, she said she would reconsider after they had their own firstborn. Your sister is, though, always your _sister_. She has never reconsidered. And your father never quite got over it for reasons you will understand shortly. So – they barely see each other during the day and only sleep together if they are trying to give birth to the male heir they never had. And it will be two years before your brother comes along, if he ever does.”

Robb feels sick. “But – but they loved each other. I know they did.”

“Sure they did. Because _you_ were there and they had you to bond over. I imagine you wouldn’t understand what it means to be left on your own while pregnant for nine months,” Lyanna adds, and – wait, what –

“You sound like you have first-hand experience,” Robb says.

“You will find out soon,” she sighs. “Come on. We need to go and you need to see another thing first.”

Robb follows her, only too happy to leave the scene in front of him. They head for Sansa’s room – at least that apparently stayed the same – and… oh gods, is Sansa crying? Yes, she’s definitely sobbing her heart out while Jeyne Poole is more or less trying to console her.

More or less.

Because Sansa isn’t really listening to her – she’s just sobbing softly because she didn’t use to cry noisily and she isn’t now, and she’s saying –

She keeps on saying _they told me that after she was born it would be better, why is it worse_?

Robb should have probably tried to console her, but he just – he flees the scene. He can’t watch that.

“We are not done,” Lyanna says softly. 

“That’s – that’s not the end?”

“Sweetling, it’s not even the beginning.” She sounds sad, so very sad, and then she takes his hand and he’s not – he’s not in Winterfell anymore. He’s – some castle he’s never been in. Some castle he doesn’t even like, the atmosphere is fucking oppressive, and he realizes why the moment he sees one of the banners on the wall. It’s a flayed man, so –

“What am I doing in the _Dreadfort_?”

“Oh, we have to go back to Winterfell later, but you have to see this before. So, didn’t you notice someone else missing, other than your brother?”

Robb thinks about it – if Arya was just born then he just turned six, which means –

“Wait, _Theon_?” He was nowhere to be seen, but Robb had just assumed that he was somewhere else and that he wouldn’t want to be in the middle of his parents’ affairs.

“Do you think that without a male heir your father wanted to come home with a hostage, or ward, or what have you? He didn’t think he should risk making things worse between your mother and him, and so Theon never went to Winterfell.”

“So – he’s with – Roose Bolton?”

Lyanna nods and motions for him to come over. Robb barely takes a couple of steps and then he hears someone screaming, definitely Theon, and –

“Leave me,” he says, sounding almost desperate, and Robb turns the corner just to see some servant backhanding him in the face without much finesse. A servant who smells like a bloody rotten corpse.

“I think,” the man says, “that you still haven’t understood how things run ‘round here, _my lord_.” That was definitely not said as if he meant it. “You’re a hostage,” the man says, “if you hadn’t realized it yet. The moment your father steps out of line, Lord Bolton will make sure he knows he shouldn’t have. And when he told me he doesn’t care what happens to you as long as you are presentable, he meant it. I might leave you. For now. Not forever, though.”

The man moves closer, his mouth close to Theon’s ear, and Theon looks like he might throw up. “Think about it next time you feel too high and mighty.”

Then he turns and leaves, bringing that godforsaken smell with, and the moment he does Theon’s knees give out and he falls down on the ground, shaking like a leaf.

Gods, Robb should think that he deserved it given what Theon did to _him_ in the world where he comes from, but he just – he remembers befriending him, or how he tried for a good month to before Theon caved and actually cracked a smile at him, and he remembers that at times he’d hear him crying behind the door to his room or that he’d just look sad all the time, and that he’d be afraid of Robb’s father when to Robb there was nothing to be afraid of. And –

 _This_ Theon hasn’t done anything to deserve Robb’s anger. Not yet, anyway, and that scene left him so fucking disturbed he just – he kind of wants to come over and comfort him or something, but what if he has to explain his presence and his Stark clothes? Never mind that he couldn’t do it and then say that it’s the first and last time they see each other.

“ _His_ life certainly wouldn’t have improved,” Lyanna says. “But let’s move on. We are almost done. Well, you and me at least.”

“What –” Robb starts, and never finishes because she’s grabbed his arm and they just appeared in Winterfell’s village. It’s the outer part, the farther from the castle – Robb thinks they’re in front of a house belonging to a couple of tailors who didn’t have any children, at least as far as he remembers.

Then he hears noise, like children screaming, and –

“Look, there’s the bastard!”

 _What the fuck_?

Robb runs, following the voices, and gods be good, there’s some four kids quite literally kicking another on the ground. Robb can’t see the poor child’s face, but he can’t hear him even groaning, and –

Oh, no. He only knows one person who’d try to not cry out at all costs even if they were hurting horribly.

“Did you say they’ll see me if I want them to?”

“Yes,” Lyanna replies. “You might want to think about wearing less royal clothing. Go on.”

Robb does and a moment later he’s not wearing his clothes anymore but a nondescript gray uniform – he could be a soldier in his own army, just without any armor. Well then –

“Five against one?” He says, and the kids stop at once. “That’s real brave of you,” he says, and only shows them a bit of his sword before all of them run away at once, whispering that no bastard is worth that trouble.

And – ah, fuck. He had expected it to be Jon, really, but he wasn’t prepared for the look of utter gratefulness in his eyes when he stands up and stares at Robb in awe – he’s smaller than Robb remembers him being, with those grey eyes that look as if he’s about to burst out crying and he looks completely bloody miserable.

“Ser,” Jon sniffs. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s – it’s all right,” Robb replies, kneeling so that they’re on an even level. “It’s really not brave of them at all.” He reaches out and wipes some blood from Jon’s split lip and Jon leans into it as if people touching him that gently is not something that happens to him very often. “Why were they beating you up, if I may ask?”

Jon shrugs. “I’m – I’m not supposed to say, but everyone ‘round here knows that my parents aren’t – them.” He nods towards the house. “And no one likes that I’m – I mean. My father’s Lord Stark. That’s why they were calling me like that.”

Good gods. “I’m – sorry to hear it,” Robb says. “Don’t you ever see him?”

“He comes once in a while,” Jon replies sadly. “He’s – nice. But he always looks so sad. I feel bad. I mean, I don’t want him to. I know it’s my fault.”

Robb swallows. “Did he ever – don’t you have a mother?”

“He never said,” Jon sobs. Gods. _What is this_? He’d have never thought – but he should have imagined. He should have. Of course his mother wouldn’t have wanted Jon around in the first place, as much as he always liked to underestimate it for his own peace of mind.

“Hey,” he says, “what’s your name?”

“Jon,” comes the reply. “Jon Snow. Ser.”

Robb ponders what he’s about to say for a moment, then he decides that if he doesn’t exist in this world, it can’t really hurt to give his real name. Though not all of it.

“Jon. Listen, I have to leave, I was just passing by, but I want you to hear me out a moment, all right?”

“All – all right.”

“My name is – I’m a Snow, too, actually. Robb Snow. My father wasn’t that great a lord, but one nonetheless. I know you think you’re – that you are the problem, but I have – I thought about it for a long time, and – when I left home, I knew that I wasn’t guilty for my father’s actions. I was – I was going to the Wall. That’s why I’m here. I thought I’d join and maybe serve the realm, and perhaps I will. But I could have been a hedge knight, too, if I wanted. You will have choices. Just remember your name doesn’t really say anything about _you_. Or try to.”

Jon smiles, just a tiny bit, but he looks so happy that Robb wasted a few minutes just to tell him that –

“I will. Ser.”

“Robb, please. I am six and ten and no one gave me that title.”

“Robb, then, but I think you should be one. Knights do the things you just did all the time,” Jon says sadly, and then heads back home when they call for him a moment later.

Robb just stands there petrified.

“See?” Lyanna says. “Surely _he_ didn’t benefit from your loss, either.”

Robb turns towards her and –

Fuck. She’s crying. And her eyes and hair and face don’t look just like Arya’s and his father’s, now that he notices it. After all, his father always said that Arya had taken after his sister and that they looked very much alike. And if Jon had taken after them his father and so did Arya –

Then maybe Jon hadn’t taken after Ned Stark. But after –

“ _You_ were his mother,” he breathes, finally _seeing it_.

“See? I knew you were smart. And to answer your previous question… yes, I know how it feels to bear a child on your own personally. Indeed I do. And I would have given anything to actually have the chance to be his mother. It wasn’t bound to be, I suppose, and I cannot fault Ned for lying. If he said Jon was mine, everyone would have known the father was Rhaegar.”

Robb shudders – well, given king Robert’s feelings about Rhaegar Targaryen, sure as the seven hells it wouldn’t have worked out.

“But – the way it really went, he had Ned always there and he had you and he could befriend your other siblings. Like this? It never happened.”

“But – I thought he resented me,” Robb says helplessly.

“I also resented all of my brothers for being born male and not having to be married to the first suitor their father liked best, and for being able to fight and being knights when I had to worry about sewing and singing and everything else good ladies should want. It doesn’t mean I didn’t love them.” She smiles sadly and then she puts both hands on Robb’s face, leaning closer.

“Well,” she says, “I have to go.”

“Wait, you aren’t leaving me here, are –”

“Robb, I said _I_ have to go. You haven’t seen everything that you have to, but I cannot go any further. Just wait and someone else will come. I have just two things left to tell you.”

“All – all right.”

“First, when you go back, please – please tell your brother I am really sorry I never had a chance to be his mother. I would have wanted nothing more. I know he worries that his mother never wanted him, but believe me, I did want him. Very much. And the second – well, you really need to stop assuming the worst, but I am glad I could know you even if for such a short time. Goodbye, Robb.”

She kisses his forehead and quite literally vanishes in front of his eyes before Robb can even think of replying –

And then he’s not in the village anymore. For a moment everything is dark and then it lifts and he’s back –

Back at the Dreadfort.

Somethings tells him he’s not going to like this.

“What’s going on?” he asks cautiously.

“Ah, _there_ is the infamous Young Wolf. Too bad this is a very regretful way to meet.”

Robb turns to his right and now there’s a man standing next to him. A man wearing Dornish clothes, with dark skin, dark eyes and hair, a tall and lean build and a smirk that most probably would make plenty women faint. The accent is also Dornish, and –

Is that a spear in his hand?

And –

_Hadn’t they received news that Oberyn Martell died because he chose to defend Tyrion Lannister in that trial they had for Joffrey’s attempted murder?_

“… Lord Oberyn Martell?” Robb breathes out.

“And smart, too. Too bad you weren’t the one we considered an alliance with. I should have insisted more with my brother – well, I suppose there’s nothing to do about it for now.”

“Wait – but – are you – you _died_.”

“And your aunt also was dead. Lad, I cannot explain you how this entire thing works because I am not allowed and in theory you shouldn’t be here at all. Just be aware that that you cannot do this with someone you knew in person and all of us leading you around have to be dead. Too bad for us, but you aren’t yet and I’m more than happy to avoid a senseless death. Especially when it’s someone who doesn’t deserve it. So, let’s move already, we don’t have all the time in the world.”

What –

“And for the record, your aunt brought you to the past of a world where you never existed.”

“So – this is – the present?”

“Pretty much,” Lord Oberyn confirms. “And at least we are getting the most unpleasant part out of the way first.”

Without waiting for Robb’s reply, he grabs his arm and drags him towards the Dreadfort’s entrance – Lord Roose is standing outside it with a few servants and –

“Is that Theon?” Robb blurts.

“That would be him, yes,” Lord Oberyn agrees.

Robb wants to scream. If it’s the present day, Theon should be nineteen and he probably is, but when in Winterfell he dressed in good silks and cared for his looks and was a sight for sore eyes, and doesn’t Robb remember that bitterly, here he’s – just… different. He’s looking downwards, his hair is dull, he’s dressed with plain brown clothes of a shade he’d have loathed back in the day and he looks… just… really demure. Whenever Roose Bolton tells him something it’s always _yes my lord_ and _no my lord_ and _of course my lord_.

“What the hell happened to him?” Robb asks.

“Well, how did you think his life ended up being, given that he had that rather horrid servant harassing him all the damned time? It’s not as if he was given the same treatment he had in Winterfell. And it’s not as if he had one person he was friends with who liked him for his personality,” Lord Oberyn replies. Robb doesn’t ask how he knows. He figures they just would. “And do you think Roose Bolton let him have archery lessons? Fine, he might have talked a bit with that Domeric son of his, but guess what, Domeric just died.”

“Well, yeah, it was his bastard brother killing him or so people said around the North, wasn’t it?”

“Of course. His bastard brother, who was very much close to the rather horrid servant. Not that anyone could prove it.”

Then a carriage stops in front of the gate and Robb watches in horror as the man he supposes is Ramsay Snow – he matches everything he’s heard of him, anyway – and the reeking servant descend from it and head for the gate. Theon openly flinches at seeing the servant. Snow smiles a very knowing and unsettling smile and Robb’s stomach would flip downwards on itself, if he had anything to throw up.

“What – but you can’t treat hostages that way, there is some kind of law –”

“Because you expect the Boltons to follow it? But just you wait.”

Lord Oberyn grabs his shoulder and – Robb’s in Winterfell, again, just outside it.

And there are no Stark banners on the walls.

There are _Bolton and Frey_ banners on the walls.

“What is this,” he asks, feeling sick all over again.

“You might want to ask around. Taverns are the best place for this kind of thing. Come on, go ahead.”

Robb heads inside the only inn in Winterfell – it’s usually full, but it has just a few customers. All old men with fairly visible war wounds. He walks inside, wishing to be _seen_ and for his clothes to be black, and then notices that one of the men is sitting at a table, staring at his empty tankard of ale and counting spare change in his hand.

Robb moves closer.

“Ser,” he asks cautiously, “if I pay for your next round of ale, would you be so kind to answer a few questions for me?”

The man looks up and lets out a laugh. “ _My lord_ , if you do that, I’ll sing you fifteen fucking songs of your choice.”

Robb pays for the man’s drink and brings it to the table, and then he sits down in front of him.

“I –” he coughs, then figures a small lie can’t hurt. “I come from Essos. There is not much for me over there, and that’s why I thought I’d go to the Wall – I’m a bastard born, so it’s the best option for me. But I hadn’t quite realized how much went on during the war.”

“You could say that. Bugger it.”

“Can – can you tell me what happened to Lord Stark? I thought he was still around.”

“Hells, no. When he accepted to marry his daughter to that good for nothin’ Joffrey Baratheon it was the beginning of the end. First the bloody Lannisters have him killed for _treason_ , then that poor child of his – Brandon, ‘twas the name –, well, he wasn’t even ten, and crippled to boot. Before he could try and find some good advice or help, Tywin Lannister buys out Roose Bolton and the Freys, who had sworn to hell and back to his mother that they’d stay allied with the Tullys if things went wrong, and Bolton sends that fucking bastard of his to Winterfell.”

Oh, _no_.

“’veryone got killed. The child, his little brother, all of ‘em. Meanwhile Lord Bolton marries one of those daughters of Frey’s and there you go. They’re lords of Winterfell now. Poor Lady Sansa is still in King’s Landing and no one knows where did the other daughter end up. Sad times.”

“I – I heard Lord Stark had a bastard son, though?”

The man drinks some more and shrugs.

“That one left the village years ago. Must’ve been not older than fucking two and ten. Went to the Wall ‘cause some knight he met a while ago said it was a honorable choice. They went to look for him when things got dire, but turns out he went beyond the Wall with some expedition and never came back. None of them ever came back. Could be he’s ran away and joined the wildlings. Couldn’t blame him for that, but who knows.”

“I – I understand. So – now it’s – Lord Bolton ruling?”

“Everyone’s sad to say so, but what can you do. The Lannisters waited for those two idiots of Renly and Stannis Baratheon to fight each other and took out the remaining one – Stannis didn’t even have a bloody chance.”

 _Good gods_. Robb slips him a coin.

“What – what of Lady Stark?”

“Oh, I haven’t told you _how_ the betrayal happened. The Freys asked for the whole family to come to their castle to discuss the terms of an alliance. She had to go with both sons and her brother and her great-uncle. And Lord Bolton, ‘course. All slaughtered after they ate their bread. Tywin Lannister and ‘veryone else involved got a place for ‘em in the seven hells, that’s for sure. And you’re better off in Essos, lad. There ain’t much for anyone here.”

“Thank you,” Robb says, slipping a third coin. “You have been… very helpful.”

“If only ‘veryone was like you,” the man shrugs, and takes the money.

Robb stumbles outside the inn feeling like he might be sick.

“How,” he blurts. “ _How_ , I can’t –”

“I daresay,” Lord Oberyn says, materializing at Robb’s side, “that it’s because _you_ weren’t there. You were old enough to rally men behind you and _you_ beat Tywin Lannister at the Whispering Wood, not your brother. By the way, that was a stroke of genius. I might have rejoiced when hearing you taught that bastard a lesson. But going back to your brother, he brother was eight – nowhere old enough for that. Without you, there is no northern kingdom. And without you, there is no one posing a serious threat to Lannister, may he rot someplace I will be able to find him when the Stranger takes him. And without the northern kingdom – or alliance – this is what happens.”

“No,” Robb says, his voice sounding very, very small.

“Well, seems to me like your presence must have meant something. And we are not done yet.”

“I don’t know if –”

“Lad, you started this, you have to finish.”

A moment later, they’re – somewhere Robb has never been before. He’s in a nice, lavish garden, and when he turns he sees a palace he’s only ever looked at in history books. He’s – he’s in King’s Landing, isn’t he?

“I agree, I wouldn’t want to be here either,” Lord Oberyn says, and _how did he know what Robb was thinking_? “But there is something you have to see here, too.”

Robb isn’t sure he wants to know, but before he can ask –

“Cersei, damn it, that’s not – you can’t make him.”

“Oh, so since when _you_ decide what’s everyone’s duty in this family?”

What – Jaime and Cersei Lannister are right behind them, and from the looks of it they’re having a fairly heated argument.

“Since we don’t have to! Gods, Brandon Stark is _dead_ and likewise for his mother and brother, Arya Stark most likely is as well and if she isn’t I doubt she could mean any harm, Tyrion certainly does not want this, why is it necessary to marry him to bloody Sansa Stark when he doesn’t want to and she can stay a hostage without gaining a fucking husband out of it?” Jaime Lannister does not sound amused at the prospect. His sister, though –

“Because,” she replies, talking to him as if he’s a complete idiot, “if he marries her, whenever Boltons and Freys are finished most probably destroying each other sooner or later, _we_ would have Winterfell, and that is a fairly valid reason to go through with it.”

Lannister sends her a look that makes Robb almost pity him – it’s as if he hates everything that’s coming out of his sister’s mouth and he doesn’t want to believe she’s the one saying it. “Isn’t it enough? We won the damned war. You have everything you wished for. No one is ever going to try and kill your precious Joffrey, you have the Tyrells’ money – and you have to force this on the two of them?”

Gods, Robb can’t believe he’s agreeing with the man who pushed his brother out of a window, but – but on top of what he’s hearing, if Sansa marries Tyrion in a world where all of that happened, it would be _plenty worse_.

“Why,” Cersei Lannister asks in a voice that sounds sweet but drips with venom instead, “would _you_ rather marry her? You could renounce that cloak, you know.”

“For – she’s _ten and three_ ,” her brother protests, “how – for the love of everything, you know there’s no one I want but _you_ , and you tell me –”

“Well, you would be doing your duty for the family. No one says you have to bed her or love her, for crying out loud. If you wish to spare our precious brother that much of a hassle, I am sure Father would be very glad to hear it.”

Robb thinks he’s about to feel sick for real.

“And this is happening because _I_ wasn’t there?” He asks.

“You never captured Lannister at Whispering Wood,” Lord Oberyn shrugs. “He never lost a hand and never was set free by your mother, and this changed things relatively little, but his brother never had a chance to prove that he was a more than passable Hand of the king, never mind that with Tywin Lannister leading their forces at Blackwater, they just decided annihilation was the right way to go. King’s Landing never was under a siege. Blackwater meant that most people in the Baratheon army died. And the Tyrells changed sides sooner than they did where we come from. They never had one single obstacle in their way. Because _you_ weren’t there.”

Maybe, Robb concedes, maybe there were worse outcomes.

“What – what about Jeyne?”

“Which one you mean? Your wife? She’s married to some distant relative of Tywin Lannister’s because her mother urged her father to help Lannister out in deeds and not words only. Her mother is very glad they married into that House. Your wife is utterly miserable about it.”

 _At least she wasn’t with me,_ Robb thinks sadly. Regardless of everything else.

“If you meant Jeyne Poole, she went with Sansa to King’s Landing. She’s been in a brothel for a few years.”

“In a _brothel_?”

“I think you shall find out very soon. Sadly,” Lord Oberyn says, “our time is almost over.”

“Our time? Does that mean there’s… more?”

“For me, no. For you? Yes. I’m honestly sorry, Robb Stark. I am also sorry we will never meet in person, but if it consoles you, I think I would have liked to.”

“I – likewise, my lord.”

“See? Polite, too. We really should have talked straight with you. Well, try to not undermine yourself too much. I mean, I might have _overestimated_ myself and that didn’t make me any favors either, but let me tell you, from what I see, _your_ presence made the life of your relatives or friends better more than a lot of other people I’ve known.”

“… Thank you,” Robb replies, and he feels sincerely touched at that – he’d tell the man, too, but he just smirks again in that way that most surely made a lot of people want to faint, and then it’s dark again.

Then it’s fucking cold.

He’s in Winterfell’s graveyard, and it’s winter, but not the way he remembers it. This one is colder. It’s fucking freezing down to his bones and shit, he knew winter was coming, it’s his House’s words, damn it, but this isn’t like the previous one. This is _worse_.

“Someone’s just stated the bloody obvious.”

Robb at this point had expected someone to show up and be his guide, whatever the fuck it means.

What he hadn’t expected was the person currently in front of him.

Because sure as the seven hells he never met a wildling woman with such fiery red hair in his life. She’s dressed heavily, and more appropriately for this weather than him. She has some lovely blue eyes that are holding a fairly stern stare, though – she has a couple crooked teeth, small freckles over her cheeks and a bow on her back, and she’s looking at him as if he’s a complete fucking idiot.

Not that she’s wrong, given what he’s just witnessed.

“Er, do we know each other?”

“We never had the pleasure,” she replies, “but I know _of_ you.”

“What?”

She sighs. “I’m Ygritte. If you hadn’t guessed already, I’m one of th’free folk, not that you kneelers would care. Since I’m _here_ , you might’ve guessed I’m dead where we come from. And I happen t’know you because _I_ ’m the reason your brother’s not a maiden anymore.”

For a moment Robb thinks _what is she talking about_ , and then –

“Wait, _Jon_?”

“Aye. That trek beyond th’Wall that you were told about, he did the same while you were in the South fighting your war. He took me prisoner first and then didn’t kill me, and didn’t understand that to _us_ it meant he had stolen me, but never mind that. Point is, one of his crow friends told him that he should’ve gone with us to spy, which we didn’t know about, ‘course. Things happened, he learned what he had to, ran when he realized we were gonna attack his precious Wall, there was a battle. They won it. And I died.”

… Robb probably shouldn’t think that this is not what he had been expecting, but –

“I – I am sorry to hear that,” he says sincerely.

“Well, ‘twas obvious he actually wasn’t lying when he said he loved me. Too bad it wasn’t meant to happen. _However_ , that ain’t what this entire thing is about. It’s about _you_ , so let’s just go ahead with it.”

“I have a feeling I will like this part even less than the previous two, won’t I?” Robb asks wearily.

“Why, you aren’t completely stupid then. Have you also noticed where we are?”

“… The old servants’ graveyard?”

“You’d know better than I would. Well, what are you noticing?”

Robb glances around. For a moment he doesn’t get it, but then –

“Wait. There are – more graves than before?”

“Then go look at ‘em already.”

Robb goes to the first of the new ones and blanches.

“ _Bran and Rickon_? But – they should be in the crypts!”

“The crypts are sealed. You think your new bunch o’ kneelers that live in your castle wanted to keep on burying your lot in there? Please.”

Robb moves ahead. Ned Stark is the next one, of course. Then Catelyn Stark. All the graves are unattended and there’s plants growing all over them as if no one has taken care of them in months. There’s just one that he thinks wasn’t there before left and he’s not sure he wants to know, but –

He reads the name on it.

 _Sansa Lannister_.

He bites down on his hand so that he doesn’t scream, but he has to ask.

“ _How_?”

“She _did_ wed your younger Lannister. Who, where you come from, never touched her and said he wouldn’t until she wanted him to. Too bad that in this world he tried and when no heir happened, his father saw fit to say he’d _watch_ until he knew they were trying. So he couldn’t keep that promise.”

Robb just stares at the stone, and he almost tells Ygritte to stop talking –

“Too bad that she was young and distressed and didn’t want that child. She died giving birth. The child, too. He’s buried with her, not that they even gave him a name.”

Robb falls down on his knees, turns his head and throws up on the ground – he can’t. He just can’t.

He thought marrying the Imp would have been the worst possible option, but – but if he actually treated her as right as he could, in their world, then it’s better than _this_. This is horrible. It can’t possibly be fucking worse than this –

“Please,” he says, “please just stop it. I get it, I –”

“Too bad. You started this, you’ve got to finish. ‘Sides, things can get plenty fuckin’ worse than this.”

“ _What_?”

“The dead are dead. They can’t suffer anymore. At least they’re dead. Others aren’t.”

That’s when Robb hears shuffling behind him. He moves away, not that he can be seen, until –

Until _Jeyne Poole_ walks up to the grave. But for a moment he doesn’t recognize her – she’s a shadow of the young, lively girl who used to talk in hushed tones with Sansa and dream about their dream knight that would sweep them off their feet like in songs.

She’s thin, and her hair is dull and brittle, and her eyes look impossibly large on a face where you can see how sharp her cheekbones are. She’s dressed all in black and he can see _bite marks_ on her hands.

She’s holding a few flowers in her shaking hands and she leaves them on all the new graves silently until she reaches Sansa’s.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs. “I wish I could do more, but – it’s – if he found out – gods, I’m so jealous of you, Sansa. If only the gods had taken me the same as they took you.”

She wipes at her eyes and stands up, and then –

“ _Arya_! Are you still at that stupid graveyard?”

Robb gets the creeps just listening to that voice, but the thing is – the moment Jeyne hears it, her eyes go completely blank. And that is way, way creepier – but it’s nothing to how demure, how completely resigned she sounds as she replies, “I’m coming, my lord.”

Robb stands up and follows her and –

Well, shit. _My lord_ is Ramsay Snow.

And he called her Arya. What did Lannister say?

Oh, shit.

“No,” he says.

“And you haven’t seen the worst,” Ygritte says without even leaving him time to process it. “Well. Depends on what you consider _worst_.”

She motions for him to follow her and she heads –

She heads to the place where they used to keep hunting dogs. There’s a couple, huddled against someone –

Who’s also chained to the wall. Out in the open. Snow whistles and a moment later the dogs run away towards their owner, leaving the poor bastard without protection from the cold.

For a moment, Robb doesn’t recognize him. The man is thin to the point of malnutrition, looks old and frail, has white brittle hair, doesn’t have two fingers on his left hand and one on the right, never mind that those hands have flaying scars on them, and he has broken boots that show he’s lacking a few toes on both feet. For a moment Robb’s stomach turns on itself out of mere human compassion, but then he realizes the man’s saying something.

“No, you can’t help her,” he’s murmuring. “Your name is Reek. Rhymes with freak, rhymes with weak –”

The voice.

The fucking voice.

It can’t be –

“No,” Robb says. “That’s not Theon. That’s not –”

“Too bad,” Ygritte replies, “no luck there. That’s him. Now, this is when I should keep my mouth shut, but I never was the person who liked kneeling to anyone. Men or gods or whatever, and so I’m going to tell you the bloody truth. In our world, the one where you exist, Snow’s doing that to him right now. I mean, he’s doin’ what turns him into – well, < i>that. But, now we’re at the bad part. ‘Cause if you go to that wedding Frey’s proposed you, you die.”

It’s telling that Robb isn’t at all surprised by that notion. After all he’s seen, it makes perfect sense. Then he thinks about it twice. And –

“ _Who_ dies?”

“You, your mother, half of y’r army, so many people ev’ryone will think bad of the Freys for centuries. The Boltons do take your castle and Snow uses that poor girl to impersonate your sister, but what happens in our world is that _he_ ,” she says, nodding towards Theon, “given that he had somethin’ better to look back upon, goes through all of that but never quite buys into it, and at some point he remembers the person he used t’be, and he remembers _you_ and how you had cared for him for who he was, and he finds it in himself to save her arse, jump from the walls and run away. So even if y’re dead, without _you_ , he’d have never done that. Now? He didn’t have anyone who gave two fucks about him when he was a hostage, he spent most of his life with _them_ ,” she goes on, nodding to the castle. “He never had a chance to even be himself with someone other than his mother, and he hasn’t seen her since the Rebellion. He’s never goin’ to save the girl. ‘Cause he didn’t have you.”

Fuck. Fuck. But has she just said –

“That’s happening to him _now_?”

“Aye. If it consoles you, he hasn’t even killed y’r brothers.”

“What?”

“’Twas a fake. They escaped and he thought he’d lose his face if he didn’t do it. Then again, Snow over there was suggesting him to.”

“But _why_ did he even take Winterfell?”

Ygritte shrugs. “His idiot father wouldn’t take your deal. He thought he’d impress him. Always said you kneelers are a bunch o’idiots. Why would you sacrifice y’rself for people who don’t care for you? Blood’s not the end o’it.”

Fuck. Fuck. So Robb was right in thinking Theon wouldn’t have harmed Bran and Rickon, at least, but thinking that Bolton had just told him they were holding him for _questioning_ ….

“Can – can he see me?” Robb asks.

“Anyone you want can see you. If you mean, _wouldn’t that ruin things_ , don’t bother. Doesn’t matter anymore. You’ll see why in a moment. Go ahead.”

Robb swallows and wills himself to be visible – he goes in Theon’s line of sight and kneels down cautiously. Shit, now that he’s tangible he can smell, too, and Theon stinks, so much he’s about to gag again. But still – he doesn’t. Wouldn’t be a good idea.

Theon immediately notices that someone else is there. Robb doesn’t even move as their eyes meet, and why does it hurt so much when there’s no recognition in Theon’s? Of course. He doesn’t know Robb in this world.

“M’lord,” Theon blurts, and Robb’s eyes go wide in horror.

His teeth. The bastard did _something_ that made him lose enough of them that it’s obvious just by fucking glancing at his mouth if he opens it. He thinks about how the Theon he knew used to smile and about how that smile would make Robb’s stomach fill up with butterflies and at how many times Robb wondered, _but what if I kissed that_ , and never did.

And Snow is _doing the same to Theon now_?

“I’m – not one,” Robb says, trying to keep his voice as low and comforting as possible. Hard, when he wants to scream. “Please, don’t – I imagine you don’t know me at all, do you?”

“Should – should I?” Theon asks, and then he blanches as much as Robb had before. “I’m sorry,” he scrambles to say a moment later, “I know I shouldn’t ask questions, I –”

“No, it’s all right,” Robb says. “And – no. I suppose you shouldn’t. Though – what’s your name?” He asks, fearing the answer.

“Reek,” comes the immediate answer. “M’lord.” Robb wants to really fucking vomit.

“I was told,” he replies slowly, moving closer. “I was told it was Theon.”

At that, Theon’s eyes go so wide it’d almost be comical, if only – if _only_.

“No one,” he says quietly, “no one’s called me like that in a very long time.” He sounds sad, his voice is so small, and –

He looks up at Robb as if he’s about to start crying. “How do you know?”

For a moment Robb panics, and then – then he figures that if Ygritte said _it won’t matter_ , then lying to him won’t be what hurts him in the long run.

“I’m from Harlaw,” he says, remembering where Theon’s mother came from. “Your – uh, your sister is there, I’m one of her men, and – she’s sent me here because they’re done with asking for your release and she wants to come and get you. And she wanted to know how the situation was.”

For a moment Theon looks hopeful, but then he scrunches his eyes and shakes his head, his shoulders shaking so much Robb thinks he’s about to have some kind of seizure.

“How do I know this is not a test?”

A – a _test_? Robb doesn’t even want to know. Fuck. Fuck, how does he prove it? He ransacks his head trying to remember if Theon ever told him something about Asha no one else could know, and damn, _what if that hasn’t happened in this world_?

Well, fuck it. Here it goes. “She said to tell you – once, when you were five or so, you got lost on a beach in Pyke trying to get seashells for your mother and she went to find you, but then a storm happened and you had to stay all night in one of the caves near the beach.”

The last thing he expects is for Theon to break down crying in _utter relief_. So it did happen in this world, too. Small mercies.

“She shouldn’t,” he says. “There’s nothing worth to save here.”

Robb wants to argue, but Ygritte moves behind Theon and makes a motion obviously meaning that they have to go.

“I have to go,” Robb says, “if they find me it’s over, but – believe me. There is something worth to save.”

“What’s your name?” Theon blurts as Robb stands up, one of his skeletal fingers grapping his wrist without any strength at all. They leave dirty handprints.

“Robb,” he replies, grabbing that hand and giving it a squeeze. “We’ll, we’ll see each other again soon. I swear,” he says, and then he stands up and runs because he can’t look into Theon’s eyes right now, not when they’re looking at him with naked gratefulness and as if Robb’s the one good thing that’s ever happened to him in his life.

By the time Ygritte catches up to him, he’s breathing so hard he can barely keep it under control.

“Nice,” she says. “You’re really the forgivin’ kind, aren’t you?”

“I can’t – I never wanted that. I never thought I was _that_ important.”

She looks at him as if she’s completely unimpressed. “You’re someone’s only close friend and y’think you’re not _that_ important? Gods be good, now I know who Jon’s taken after.”

“What?”

“Never mind. We have to go.”

“Wait. Wait, can I just – where the hell did Arya end up?” He asks, figuring that at least he should know that. “If you aren’t sending me where she is.”

Ygritte looks at him with fucking… pity? “She’s exactly where she’s goin’ in our world. And it’s nowhere good. The good news is that in our world, she eventually goes back and she’d have never gone at all if you didn’t die, ‘cause she was going to that wedding so she could meet you and your mother again. The bad news is that in this one she doesn’t come back at all. And now we really have to go.”

Before Robb can ask explanations, she grabs his arm.

A moment later, they’re surrounded by snow and ice and it’s so fucking cold, it’s even worse than in the graveyard.

“Where the hell are we now?”

“Oh, beyond the Wall. Now, the crows like to think we are the enemy. Too bad they haven’t seen ‘em.”

She nods downwards – right. They’re on some kind of hill, so they have a decent view of the place, wherever it is –

And –

It’s full of corpses.

Tall, blue corpses made of _ice_ with glowing eyes that are walking slowly but steadily towards the Wall.

“But – these things – they are from Old Nan’s fucking stories,” Robb says, helplessly.

“She knew better than you, whoever she was. They’re not from stories. They’re alive. They’re _comin_ ’. Same as centuries ago. The Long Night’s upon us, Robb Stark. And d’you remember how that one ended, in the songs?”

Robb is too out of his depth to think of questioning her.

“Uh, there was some kind of hero with a flaming sword who killed their leader and saved us all?”

“Aye. Azor Ahai. Good guess. And now there’s the last thing.”

She jumps down the hill and walks towards a certain point – Robb follows. The – the corpses, the _Others_ , don’t notice them at all.

“And there they are,” she sighs, a moment later, and –

No.

They’re in front of a long, long line of corpses. All dressed in black.

“No,” he says. “No, this isn’t –”

“Go look,” she says, and _now_ she sounds sad. Robb glances at all of them – he doesn’t know anyone, and until the end he almost hopes that this is just some kind of macabre warning, but –

But then he sees Jon’s pale, dead face staring up at him from the ice he’s lying on.

“No,” Robb says. “No, it can’t be, he can’t –”

“He _is_ ,” Ygritte says, “but you’re missin’ a piece of the puzzle. Your father ever told you why _his_ father was so bent on havin’ a third child that he started up a bloody civil war?”

“He – never talked about that,” Robb admits.

“I can imagine why, but he knew fucking nothing. Now, since bein’ dead means _knowing_ things, I’m going to tell you. Guy read a very thorough book discussing the Long Night’s comin’. It listed exactly everything that had to happen in order for the living to survive. And guess what, it said he had to have three children who’d have rode on fucking dragons, and one of them was goin’ to be Azor Ahai reborn and would have to slay the monster. Now, Azor Ahai had to die in order t’live again. And it had to happen in very specific circumstances –”

“Wait. Wait, are you saying that _Jon_ is –”

“Huh. You know something when people want you to understand. ‘Course he is. Now, that’s what happens where we come from. He wins that battle where I die, he’s elected Lord Commander because he refuses legitimization from Stannis, because he respected _your_ legitimacy and your sister’s ‘fore his own. He tries to have us free folk mingle with ‘em and help with the Others, which was a good idea, but his dumb crow brothers didn’t like it and kill him. In a way that _fulfills the fuckin’ prophecy_. So he comes back to life, finds out who he really is, slays that monster and saves us all. But he does that because he grew up with you, because _you_ helped make him the person he was, because he went to t’Wall wanting to _protect you and your family and the realm_ , and not ‘cause he had nothin’ to lose and some nice stranger told him it was a livin’ years before.”

Robb can’t stop staring at Jon’s body and he doesn’t know if he could feel any more sick than he is right now. Because he thought he couldn’t after Theon, but now –

“Like this, he also hasn’t studied anythin’ related to war and knows literally nothing – I used to make fun of him for that, but ‘twas obvious that while he had things to learn, he wasn’t completely green. But like this, he also never got his sword lessons, he never took so much of ‘em _with you_. So he dies the first time he runs into these things and so do all the others. ‘Cause what he learned with you, he taught ‘em when they were recruits. Without _you_ , there’s no training in Winterfell, and without you there’s no training for ‘em. Like this, they all die now and no one is there to slay the monster. Therefore, Robb Stark, if you never exist, _the entirety of bloody Westeros dies_. Think ‘bout it.”

The following moment, two things happen. The ice and snow disappear while Winterfell’s godswood appears in their place, and Robb falls to his knees, his heads between his hands. He’s too exhausted even for fucking tears.

“I can’t – it’s not – I’m not that important. I can’t be _that_ important. I’m not –”

“Oh, come on, now that I thought you realized what was at stake,” Ygritte says, and then she grabs his arm and yanks him on his feet, and gives him a stare that makes Robb just freeze on the spot.

“Now, you fucking listen to me, Robb Stark. No one _isn’t_ important to the people who knew him. Y’know, we have a saying, us free folk. It says that no man who has friends is a failure. And for – someone’s just told you already, probably, but I ain’t ever, ever met a man who changed the lives of everyone he knew _for the better_ same as you did. You saw that. Without you and your existence and your fuckin’ forgiving self, your parents wouldn’t have even liked each other. And I’ve heard you thinkin’ Jon should’ve resented you but you don’t even fucking _know_ – I told him that there wouldn’t be anythin’ bad in it if he fathered my children once. He looked at me weird and now I know why, but he went and said that if he ever did and ‘twas a boy, he’d have named him like _you_. That’s someone who resents you, aye. Of course. Somethin’ tells me you have a lot more friends than you assumed, going by how much it doesn’t look to me like you’re some fucking failure.”

Jon – Jon would have done _what_?

The enormity of it hits Robb so hard he thinks he’d have rather taken a sword to his stomach. “Good gods,” he whispers. That reasoning that sent him here, assuming that the world would have been a better place without him, seems so stupid now, he doesn’t even know how to put it into words. Who’d have known that even with all his mistakes he still – he still meant that much?

“I’m an idiot,” he sighs, not quite managing to look at Ygritte straight. After all, she’s dead and he’s not – yet – and he wished he was, when she’d probably do anything to be in his place.

“Well, you know something then,” she says, and it doesn’t sound unkind. When he does look up at her, she’s actually smiling at him. “I’m leavin’ now – the next part’s up to you. Same as your life. But for what’s worth, it’s been good to know you, Robb Stark. Go and do somethin’ with your life that’s better than what you’ve seen. And when you see Jon again, tell him no hard feelings and that I _know._ And gods, tell him to stop being that sad, he looked a lot nicer the times he smiled.”

He snorts – he’s thought the same a fair amount of times. “All right,” he says, wiping away his tears. “If it’s worth anything, in a world where he wasn’t a crow and you two still found each other, I think I’d have liked you.”

“Likewise,” she says. “Well then, there you go. Fucking learn from this,” she says, and then she’s gone and Robb’s surrounded by the heart trees – their faces look alive, and maybe –

Maybe they are, he thinks, and then he takes a deep breath. He knows what he has to do.

“I was wrong,” he says. “I know I was. And – I want to live again. Please – please bring me back. I don’t care what happens to me at this point, but I want to try and fix things and – please. Let me live again.”

For a moment nothing happens, but then he hears a soft breeze caressing his face and the trees blur and disappear and –

He’s on the balcony in Riverrun, and it’s early morning and Grey Wind is frantically licking at his face.

And he’s also still dressed in the damp black clothes he’s had on since he talked to Jon in the past, and the sun feels actually warm on his freezing cold skin and he doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy of seeing the Trident in his life.

And then he remembers.

The wedding. The Freys and the Boltons betraying them. Theon. Jon. Jeyne, his mother, Sansa –

He launches himself at Grey Wind and throws his arms around his neck, and then he leaves him be and barges back inside the room. The door hits the wall with a loud noise – Jeyne wakes up at once and sends him a look bordering on alarmed.

“What – Robb? What – where were you? What are those clothes? Are you all right? You look –”

She never finishes the sentence – he grabs the back of her head and kisses her full on the mouth the moment their lips are pressed together. Then he moves back and he knows he’s grinning, but he can’t keep himself from doing it.

“I was – I couldn’t say. But I’ve never been better. And now – I have to work through a few things, and I really need to talk to you after, but – I really never was better.”

Then he barges out of the room before he can get sidetracked – there are a lot of things he has to do. Good thing he runs into his mother and uncle in the hallway.

“Robb,” she says, “a couple of Lord Walder’s sons came from the Twins saying that they will need an answer soon –”

“Uncle?” Robb interrupts her. “I need a council to be held in the next hour at most.”

“What?”

“One hour. Please.”

“I – I will rouse everyone,” he says, and he leaves.

“Robb, what –”

His mother never finishes that sentence because Robb has thrown his arms around her neck and grabbed at her shoulders before she can do it, and he knows it’s not proper and it’s not probably the royal thing to do, but _he can’t fucking care less_. She’s the person he knows and she’s not looking at him with those hollow eyes she had in that alternate past, and _he can’t really fucking give a damn_.

She holds him back after a moment or two, obviously confused, and Robb just smiles as he leans back.

“Mother?” He starts.

“Robb, what –”

“It’s a long story, but just – I know there are things we will never agree on and that at times you probably resented me for taking some really stupid decisions, and I’m awfully sorry about that, but I just want you to know that I love you and – and I think I know how to solve this entire mess.”

She looks utterly confused, but gives him a nod. “All – all right. And I don’t resent you, I –”

“It’s fine if you do,” Robb interrupts her. “And by the way, I’m not the only son you have left.”

“ _What_?”

“I – things happened. I’m not sure I know how to tell you now, but I know Bran and Rickon are alive. Theon pretended to kill them, but he never actually did.”

“How would you know?” She asks, and now she sounds so hopeful, Robb could cry just hearing the tone of voice. 

“Just be at my council when it’s held.”

Then he hugs her again for good measure – gods, just the fact that she’s alive is enough to make him want to break down crying. “And – I was wrong about Arya and Sansa. We should have exchanged Lannister for them first thing.”

“What –”

“I mean it. I was wrong. But I’m going to make it right,” Robb says, and means it entirely.

Half an hour later, he’s washed and changed and headed for the council.

“My lords,” he tells everyone in the hall, “yesterday I thought this council would have needed to be held in order to inform you that we accepted Lord Walder’s deal.”

He glances at the two sons of Lord Walder’s in the audience. They’re smiling. Good for them – they won’t for long.

“However, I received some trusted information that said Lord Walder planned to have most of us killed at the wedding on Tywin Lannister’s pay, and that our trusted Lord Bolton was in cahoots with them. Anything to say, my lords?”

Thing is – Robb hasn’t lost time and no one expected it – the surprised reaction that comes from all three of them is enough proof for the moment, and enough for Robb to order that all of them should be thrown in the dungeons _just in case_.

When everyone is too shocked by the turn of events to ask Robb where that information came from, Robb clears his throat and the entire room goes silent.

“Now,” Robb says, “given what I know, I decided to think again on all of our current choices when it comes to warfare. And all of what I will say next is _not_ negotiable under any circumstances whatsoever. Lady Mormont, I want you on Bolton and those Freys. Find out everyone who was agreeing to that bloody wedding in our ranks and let me know.” Then he turns towards Smalljon Umber. “You, my lord, are to go to Dragonstone and tell him that I want an alliance. _At all costs._ ”

“But – my lord –”

“Until we fight the Lannisters as separate fronts, we’re not going to win. I want an alliance with Stannis. Make it happen. And Lord Glover should grab a few men, go to Dorne and try to see if Doran Martell is amenable to strike a deal with us.”

“What? My lord, but the Martells –”

“The Martells might not be as friendly with the crown as you would think. Lord Glover?”

“Understood, my lord.”

“Great. Lord Mallister?”

“Yes, Your Grace?” Patrek Mallister looks awed that Robb’s singled him out, but the man served him well when he brought Theon to sail for Pyke, and he can spare him from actual fighting if it’s to do what he has in mind next.

“Take a quarter of the men and bring them to the Wall. And before anyone protests, I have a good reason to. They need more people now and they will soon, and if I could spare the army I’d send it all, but I cannot. So, obviously everyone we cannot absolutely spare stays, a quarter of the solders among the rest leaves. Understood?”

“Yes. I shall go at once, Your Grace.”

“Good. Lord Umber, while we work with Stannis, you take another quarter of the men and get rid of the Ironborn in the North. Some of them should go to Winterfell and see about my brothers’ whereabouts.”

“But – Theon Greyjoy –”

“I know for sure that he faked their deaths. Pick your best spies, I don’t care as long as someone is dealing with it. Understood?”

“Understood, Your Grace.” Grey Wind is at Robb’s side, growling ever so slightly, and Robb figures he’s enough of a deterrent if anyone wants to question his decisions.

“Good. Uncle, Mother, you’re staying here in my place. I have to go to the Dreadfort.”

“Your Grace?” his great-uncle asks. “The – the Dreadfort?”

“I have to deal with this particular matter on my own. What I want from you is that you run things in my stead and if Stannis agrees to talk and I’m not here when he contacts you, answer in my stead and get an alliance at any cost.”

“Very well,” his mother says, obviously realizing Robb’s not going to budge on this. “We shall.”

“Good,” Robb agrees. “My lords,” he goes on, “I know this might sound weird to you, but I assure you, _this_ is exactly how we’re going to win this damned war. If when the moon turns next it’s not obvious, I would be surprised.”

Not many people believe him at once, he knows, but then again Robb doesn’t mind.

He knows they will, eventually.

\--

By the time he’s left for the Dreadfort, they found out that Jeyne’s mother of all people was involved in the plot – Robb has her thrown in the dungeons and refuses categorically to change wives. Given Jeyne’s reaction, it’s obvious _she_ wasn’t in any way involved, and maybe now Robb knows why the fertility potions seemed to have the opposite effect.

(He also has told Jeyne the whole story, and while it’s obvious she doesn’t think it very likely, she also didn’t outright not believe him, especially given that he was very much right about the bloody Red Wedding. And when he tells her about Theon, the entire truth, she looks as disturbed as he felt, or close to it, and when he tells her what he plans to do once he gets to the Dreadfort, she smiles and tells him that she wouldn’t have thought herself lucky that he was the man she ended up married to for nothing.)

By the time he’s reached the Dreadfort, he’s made sure that no rumors of Lord Bolton’s imprisonment were spread around. It works – Ramsay Snow surely doesn’t expect Robb to dismount from his horse, put a knife to his neck and ask, very calmly, _where in the seven hells is Theon_.

The man is certainly not as terrifying when he’s begging for his life with a direwolf’s teeth inches from his throat, which means he gives out the information fairly easily – Robb tells Dacey Mormont to throw Snow in some dungeon until he can deal with him properly or whatever she assumes is best and then heads straight for the room Snow said Theon would be in. Of course, the door is locked, not that Robb expected any less. He doesn’t have Grey Wind with, he left him with Dacey, but it’s no matter.

He throws himself against the door some three times until it gives and the lock gives, and after it lands on the ground he’s hit with a nauseating smell. The room reeks of – a lot of things, none of which are too pleasant. He wishes it was just blood – it’s _that_ , sweat, excrements and possibly of sex as well, but Robb’s already decided to not linger too much on that. He can’t because his eyes are on Theon, who’s fucking chained to the wall, doesn’t have the one finger on his right hand anymore, is keeping his eyes closed in what looks like sheer terror, is barely dressed and whose shoulder has a flaying scar the size of a grown man’s hand over it.

“My – m’lord –” He starts, and Robb doesn’t even blink before shaking his head, rushing forward and kneeling next to him, and patience if his clothes will get stained with filth.

“Not your lord,” he says.

Theon’s eyes shoot open the moment he hears his voice and Robb doesn’t even attempt to pretend to be angry. He’s just – the moment Theon sees him his lips part slightly and Robb breathes in relief as he sees that Theon’s teeth are all in the right places, he sends him a look that –

Well, Robb thinks, either he’s an excellent mummer or he couldn’t have faked the depths of sorrow Robb can see hin his eyes right now.

“Robb?” He asks, his voice so tiny it’s barely audible. But Robb is so _relieved_ that Theon actually recognizes him, he can’t care less how Theon sounds. If he thinks about that look Theon gave him in that world where he didn’t exist –

Yes, he’s going to take this without blinking.

“Yes,” he replies. Shit, he needs to get rid of the chains, but before – “And I know everything.”

“ _What_?”

“I know why you took Winterfell, I know you never killed my brothers and I know that you did a lot of completely fucking dumb things for which I’ll need a long damned apology, but I also know that I never wanted any of this to happen and I’m getting you out.”

Theon sends him another look that – instead – says, _are you for real_ , which – is still better than what Robb got back in that other world.

“I mean it,” Robb says quietly. “And don’t those things have keys?”

“The desk,” Theon replies quietly, with the voice of someone who can’t believe they’re not dreaming the situation they’re currently in. And yes, the keys are on it. Robb takes them, glances at the keyholes and tries out the first that looks like might fit. It doesn’t, but the next one he tries does, and a moment later the shackles fall down and uncover Theon’s wrists. Fuck, his skin is completely chafed raw underneath. He doesn’t dare ask how long it’s been since he had his arms free.

For a moment, they just stare at each other and it’s obvious Theon has no idea of what he should do, which _hurts_ because somehow he was one of the people in Robb’s life who always seemed to know what to do or how to act.

 _And that was also because you were friends_ , a small voice tells him, and he thinks of that other world and he has to bite back a sob before he starts crying out in relief.

And then Theon pulls himself up to his knees and lowers his head.

For a moment Robb doesn’t even know what he’s expecting, but then he realizes it and –

Fuck this.

He moves in front of Theon and puts both hands on his shoulders, pushing them back slowly until Theon has to look up at him.

“I’m not here to kill you,” Robb says softly.

“You – aren’t?”

Fuck, how does he say _I saw what happens to you when I’m not there and I saw what would have happened to you regardless and I can’t kill you if someone tells me you find a way to save yourself from this horror because of me even if I had died already?_

“No,” Robb replies, shaking his head. “I – I don’t even know how to explain it, but just – I know what Snow was doing, I know what he was planning and I never wanted it.” He stops, takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the stench surrounding the both of them. “And I said I was getting you out, not that I was going to take your head.”

“You can’t be serious,” Theon blurts.

“I am,” Robb says, holding a hand out. Theon’s fingers are trembling as his left hand without the ring finger slips into it, and Robb pulls him to his feet as they stand up. He stumbles, obviously he hasn’t gotten the chance to actually walk for a long time, and he falls right against Robb. Robb puts an arm around his waist and breaks the fall that was bound to happen, and Theon’s other arm goes around Robb’s shoulder, and – right. Their faces are dangerously close right now and Robb doesn’t even try to stop himself from showing that he feels relieved.

“ _How_?” Theon asks, sounding as if he might break down crying.

“I found out,” Robb replies, “that my supposed propensity for _forgiveness_ might be one of my best traits. I also found out a lot of other things I had no clue about. And I found out that I might have been angry at you, but when I knew the reasons you went and decided to conquer my castle… let’s say that I have reasons to let that go.”

“Robb, you aren’t saying that –”

“I’m saying I forgive you and whoever tells me not to can keep that opinion for themselves.” Gods, he hadn’t known it’d feel so liberating to say it, but the moment it slips from his lips he feels like a fucking weight has lifted itself from his shoulders. Good.

Theon stares at him in disbelief for a very, very long moment.

Robb pretty much expects it when he closes his eyes and a few tears slip his eyes, and –

Fuck that, really. He draws Theon close and lets him do it on his shoulder, a hand going through Theon’s filthy hair and moving the other along his back – shit, the clothes are ripped and he thinks he can feel whip marks under his fingertips. But he can worry about it later.

He thinks of what happened in Winterfell’s yard in that horrible future and decides that they’re not moving for as long as they need. And when he says that Theon’s coming with them later, anyone who has anything to object will learn to keep that opinion to themselves for real.

\--

He gets the alliance – Stannis has learned from Blackwater, or so it seems, so he agrees a lot more easily than he might have before. After then, planning a strategy is a lot easier, given that Boltons and Freys are out of the picture and Cersei Lannister’s ruling during her son’s recovery from the poisoning attempt hasn’t endeared her to the smallfolk.

When they finally put their plans into motion, there’s no Blackwater nor much fighting to be had, not when the entire population of King’s Landing wants them to come inside in the first place.

Even before he gets to the Red Keep, he takes a few trusted soldiers aside and tells them to look for Jeyne Poole and to turn over every brothel in King’s Landing until they find them. When he arrives at the Red Keep, he doesn’t let Sansa go for a very long time the moment she throws herself into his arms, and then he speaks with her for a very long time without anyone else being there to hear it.

Everyone is surprised when he advocates for both Lannister brothers and says they should be sent to the Wall rather than executed. Justifying it when it comes to the Imp is easy enough – Sansa had confirmed that he hadn’t touched her once and Robb knows that he hadn’t deserved most of the vile things that he had always assumed about the man in the first place. When it comes to Jaime Lannister, it’s harder – saying _I understood in another world that he might not be as bad as I thought_ wouldn’t cut it, but eventually he argues someone with his experience would be more useful at the Wall, handless or not. He’s not surprised when that knight of his mother’s who brought him to King’s Landing for the hostage exchange that never went through because they arrived after the trial and while Robb was at the Dreadfort says she will escort them. She seems trustworthy and his mother approves, and Stannis relents and agrees that it’s a better course of action.

The day before they leave, he gets a raven from Riverrun saying that Arya and _Sandor Clegane_ showed up at the gates.

Robb doesn’t let anyone see him crying in relief, but – good. Good. Now there’s just one thing left he has to do.

\--

He’s entirely not surprised that when he arrives at the Wall things are completely in disarray.

He’s fairly sure that most people are more surprised of how he doesn’t bat an eyelid when he’s told that Jon was killed by a few of his sworn brothers mere days after being elected Lord Commander and that he _came back to life_ after.

“I think,” he says to the guard, “that I would like to speak to my brother _now_.”

The tone is fairly final, but the man doesn’t even have to go and find Jon – a moment later, Jon himself walks out of the Lord Commander’s tower and Robb almost weeps in relief seeing that while he also looks a lot older than he really is, same as Robb himself, he’s not gaunt and hunched down and drowning in his clothes the way his dead counterpart was. He has shorter hair than he had when he left Winterfell, and he looks – well, good, for having died and come back to life.

He doesn’t even wait – the moment he sees Jon come down he runs towards the stairs and Jon runs downwards, and he barely even notices Jon’s relieved face as they come closer, because he’s grabbed Jon’s shoulders and crushed him to his chest a moment later and fuck, he’s still slightly shorter than him, and –

Maybe in another life he’d have cared for protocol and the likes, but right now he really bloody doesn’t, and he lifts Jon upwards slightly as he hears him stifle a laugh against Robb’s shoulder and who even cares if people think it’s inappropriate. They can go fuck themselves, really.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time,” Robb whispers as they clutch at each other.

“You couldn’t know,” Jon replies, and he sounds utterly relieved. Robb understands him even too well.

“Actually,” he says, “actually I might have. Do you have some time? Because we really should talk,” he says, and Jon says that of course they can but – later.

Robb doesn’t move and neither does Jon, and he barely even feels the cold.

 

_Epilogue_

 

“You know,” Robb says, sitting down next to Theon in the weirwood, “I don’t think you’re quite understanding the concept of _I forgive you_.”

Theon snorts, shaking his head. “I don’t know how you even can. And when everyone but you and your wife doesn’t understand why you’d even keep me around –”

“I think I need to tell you the entire story,” Robb sighs. He hasn’t gone through all of that to let Theon keep on resenting himself for something he has long forgiven – never mind that it turned out that Rickon was in White Harbor and Bran showed back up at the Wall not long after Jon killed the bloody Great Other, fulfilled his destiny and all that crap. Good thing that he still has it in himself to blush whenever Robb mentions that he actually met Ygritte, not that it’s much good now. But he had worried it’d change things somehow and thankfully it didn’t. Everything is as good as it can get.

Except for _this_.

“Of how I knew everything that happened with you,” he clarifies. “Because – no one told me. Technically.”

“Tell me then,” Theon sighs, not quite looking at him. He looks better now – eating regularly and moving regularly and a maester checking on you regularly will work in this sense.

“In Riverrun, this one day – I wasn’t feeling too well.” Understatement of the year, but never mind that. “I was thinking about how wrong things were going, about how it felt like I was getting everything wrong when it came to ruling, and – let’s just say that for a moment I wished I had never been born.”

“You did _what_?”

If he had known it’d take this to finally make Theon stop being demure and start being angry, he’d have told him weeks ago.

“I felt like the world would have been a much better place if I hadn’t come along at all.”

“Robb –”

“Wait. I know I was wrong. Because – a moment later, my aunt showed up.”

“Your aunt. But – isn’t she –”

“Dead? Yeah. Well. Seems like some gods exist and like ghosts do. I don’t know, but what I do know is that she made my wish come true.”

“How?”

“She brought me to a world where I never existed.”

Theon is quite literally blanching thinking of it, most probably. Robb can feel his pain. Oh, he can.

“And – it was a really horrible world. Anyway, it doesn’t matter most of what I saw. Except for what concerned _you_.”

“Me?”

“You never came to Winterfell. You – you went straight to the Dreadfort. Where they treated you – well, badly. Even before Snow came to live there. I went there three times in three different moments. By the time the third happened – you were – well. You were saying all over that your name was _Reek_. The – the person I was with, she informed me that it was going to happen in our world, too, and that I was going to die if I went to that wedding, but that – even if I did die, you’d think about your previous life and about what – what we had, I guess, and then you’d snap out of it and save Jeyne and run away. But in that other world, we never knew each other and you didn’t.”

Theon looks at him with the eyes of someone who can entirely imagine how it feels, and Robb just hopes he manages to convey what he means when he speaks next. He takes a deep breath and goes on.

“I talked to you.”

“You – you did?”

“It was – I don’t think – it was horrible. I told you that your sister sent me to get you help to make you feel better I guess, and I said we’d see each other again and – listen, I just couldn’t even think of hating you after that. Or after hearing what would happen in our world if I died.”

For a moment, Theon says nothing, and then –

“I wish I could say this made no sense,” he says.

“But does it?”

“It does. Because – I regret a lot of things,” Theon says quietly, “but when I was at the Dreadfort the only thing I could think of, was that the worst mistake I made was not going back to Riverrun the moment I saw that my father didn’t want to accept our deal.”

 _Our_ deal. At least he’s talking about it the way he used to before he left.

“Regardless, I just – I know you think that I shouldn’t want you here. But – do I really mean that much to you that just thinking of what we were to each other would make you turn back from what that bastard did to you? And – you don’t know how it was like.”

“How – how bad was it?”

“Other than the fact that you called yourself Reek? Your hair was _white_. You were so think I could see your ribs, he knocked out half of your teeth and cut three fingers off your hands and I don’t know how many toes off your feet and you were sleeping with the dogs. And that was just what I saw.”

Theon shudders in revulsion, looking at his hand with the missing fingers – well, yes, he probably is thinking he got off lightly all things considered.

“But you haven’t answered the first question. Do I really mean… that much to you?”

Theon lets out a half snort, still looking at his hand. “I didn’t want to admit to myself that you did. Back in the day, I mean. But of course you do.”

“Then how could I ever want you gone?” Robb asks quietly, his hand covering Theon’s in a move that Robb hadn’t planned, but somehow it seems the right thing to do. It’s the one without the ring finger and when Theon’s fingers tentatively wrap around his own, Robb only feels relieved.

“Put it like this,” Theon admits, “it sounds like a stupid complain. But how can you even – I don’t know if I could forgive myself in your place.”

“Seems to me like you’re doing that anyway. And then – well, good thing that out of the two of us I was the one who was born forgiving, isn’t it?”

Theon hasn’t cracked a smile in the entire time since they’ve all gone back to Winterfell, and it’s been months (Jon has too – he said his watch has ended and Robb didn’t even think of telling him no), but the moment Robb says it he does for the first time since then, and it’s small and not full-blown but it looks as gorgeous as it used to back in the day, or at least the times when Theon smiled for real.

Robb has been thinking about kissing it from Theon’s mouth for years, and he’s never done it, but –

He moves his other hand to Theon’s cheek and moves closer, stopping just in front of him.

“Can I?” He asks, figuring he shouldn’t presume. “Before you ask, Jeyne knows. She’s known since we slept together out of me being desperate because of _you_. I realize it’s not the thing you wanted to hear, probably, but –”

“Really?” Theon asks, and Robb could kiss him for the fact that he just interrupted him when he wouldn’t even dare to in these last months.

“Yes,” Robb agrees. “Really. So, can I?”

Theon says nothing and for a moment Robb thinks that he read things wrong somehow, but then Theon moves forward and kisses him first, and it’s tentative and nothing like Robb ever imagined it being (for one, before their lives went all wrong, he had imagined the two of them fighting for control and Theon kissing him in the sure, easy way he kissed most of the maids he bedded), but he’s not going to complain. He moves his hand to the back of Theon’s head and shivers when he feels Theon sighing against into the kiss, and he moves away just when he feels like he really has to breathe or he’ll faint. Theon is looking at him as if he doesn’t even believe this is happening, but it’s also the first time he’s seen him this happy in months if not years, and Robb just smiles back and moves in again.

And then –

_Well done._

_I knew he was the smart kind._

_At least someone in that family knows_ something.

He hears the three voices at once and then they’re gone, and maybe he imagined them – surely he didn’t see anyone else being around, even if it doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

He smiles again.

 _Thank you_ , he thinks, and then closes the distance between himself and Theon again without overthinking it any further. Given that Theon kisses back like a starved man, he probably thought the same thing.

Good. He’s waited long enough and after all, if this is his second chance, he’s not going to waste a second of it. Or maybe it’s their second chance and – 

That sounds even better, he decides.

 

End.


End file.
